Like Dead Flies
by sunshinesyndrome
Summary: She called them 'johns', of course, because, for all accounts and purposes, that's what they were - the walking corpses, John and Jane Does, like an unidentified body in the morgue.
1. Chapter One: Comfortably Numb

**AN: Alright, folks. Figured I'd give a new series a shot while I'm attempt to scrounge up some inspiration for my other two stories. Decided to give The Walking Dead a shot, as I absolutely adore the series. At this point, it won't be romance (hell, the actual cast won't even be in this chapter), but I imagine it will probably get there eventually. I'm just not sure who Luna dear will end up with - go ahead and throw out some opinions, if you'd like.**

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><p>Luna couldn't believe her downright <em>shitty<em> luck. Sure, in the past, she'd joked about the world coming to a screeching halt (and she had wholeheartedly disagreed with every single one of her peers who had told her that she was silly for believing it would be "monosyllabic grunts and horrified screams" that accompanied the end, rather than a whimper, as her favourite T.S. Eliot poem had suggested, especially the ones who had told her that she was silly for having believed this since seeing her first zombie movie at the tender age of seven), but she certainly hadn't ever thought that this actually happening was a legitimate possibility. All those times she'd made jokes about being totally ready for the world to throw the undead her way, she'd been doing just that - _joking_. Nobody wanted to live through this bullshit, least of all someone who had only recently managed to get their financial aid paperwork straightened out so they could even afford to go to school (and even with financial aid, she was still lucky she'd taken a year off of school first - all the money she'd earned had officially been funneled into her education). This was an unexpected turn of events, one that she didn't welcome quite as wholeheartedly as she'd expected that she would, if only because of just how unexpected it really was.

Another unexpected thing being the fact that all this bullshit had managed to derail her plans to make something of herself (she wasn't sure _what _quite yet, but it would be something!). It had taken her a full year, sure, but she had decided that, unlike her big bad brother Teddy, she was going to get an education, rather than luck out and take the easiest, highest-paying job offered without education (seven years and two months her senior at twenty-seven, he had managed to bag a modeling job at seventeen and never looked back). She loved her brother dearly, but he'd always been the preferred child, or so it seemed - the child who had been planned, the child who did ask for more than could be given, the child who did as asked without inquiring as to why it was necessary, the child who liked everyone and everything and never misbehaved when there were guests. Everything about her had been unexpected - from her conception, to her long, red-gold locks and thick eyelashes, to her temper and lack of real direction. She knew good and damn well that she wasn't anything like most of her family - all dark-haired and under five feet, seven inches if they were female, all calm and modest and quiet.

Maybe it was just that she'd always felt like her parents accepted her brother more, or maybe it was just that, as the second child, she felt her parents were trying hard to steer her in the same direction as her brother, just so they could say "our children, the models", "our children, so famous and stunning". In the end, all of that had been what had driven her to her studies, what caused her to immerse herself in Norse mythology, where she discovered she felt a strange kinship with the god known quite commonly as Loki Lie-smith. Strange as it was, she felt for this god - child of those he had been taught to hate, child who always seemed to be second best when he wasn't doing something to earn approval.

The obvious differences being that she and her family weren't gods, and she had certainly never given birth to an eight-legged horse called Sleipnir (nor had she ever gotten involved in any sort of conflict with a giant called Thrym). Regardless, she had felt so connected to this god that she'd gotten his symbol - the ouroboros snake, the snake swallowing its own tail to form a complete circle - tattooed between her shoulder blades and taken his name as a nickname.

Was it strange that she was reflecting on all of these insignificant things _now_, in the midst of double-checking the padlocks on the doors for what was probably the fourth time that day? More than likely. But it was keeping her mind off of the fact that the past two times that she and Blaine (a twenty-five year old male who easily cleared six feet, with eyes so dark they were almost black and hair the same shade of red-gold as her own) had gone out in search of more food, they had found at least four johns uncomfortably close to the house they'd been using as a shelter.

She called them 'johns', of course, because, for all accounts and purposes, that's what they were - the walking corpses, John and Jane Does, like an unidentified body in the morgue. It was better than what she'd heard them called - 'walkers', 'zombies', 'shufflers', 'maggot farms' - and it helped her distance herself from the fact that all of these people had once had families and friends. It was still a far cry from making this fun in the way that it had been fun to kill reanimated corpses in video games, but it was helping her cope with the fact that she was putting these people down like Old Yeller.

"Oi, Loki! Ye plannin' on standin' there all day, starin' int'the sun, 'r are ye gonna lock up th'door?" The voice, though familiar and vaguely comforting after only two weeks, would have made her shriek in surprise had it not been for the large hand that pressed itself over her mouth momentarily. "Didn't mean t'scare ye, darlin'; Jus' wonderin' what yer doin', seein' as ye've been starin' out the window for a good fifteen minutes now."

With a scowl marring her features - the same features that had been pretty only three months ago (the high cheekbones and large hazel eyes, the arching brows and pouty lips set in a heart-shaped face, the button nose with a smattering of sprinkles over the bridge), no longer quite so pretty with the twenty or so pounds of weight loss - she shook her head and fixed the padlock back through its latch, not letting go until she felt the comforting click. Turning with a toss of her red mane, the waves limp and greasy since, finding a house or not, they still had to be stingy with their supplies, she jabbed a finger into her companion's chest, resisting the urge to grin.

"What have I told you 'bout doin' that? I'm paranoid enough as is, Blaine, I don't need you sneakin' up on me!" When her words came out much harsher than intended, she patted the man on the shoulder and offered a wide grin. "Make yourself known, honey; I know you mean well, but you walk like a fuckin' ninja or some shit, don't make any sound, gives me the heebie-jeebies." It was sort of strange, calling someone five years older than her 'honey', but with Blaine, it just _fit_, like he wasn't meant to be called by his name anyways (they'd only been in each other's company for about two weeks now, and she hadn't actually called him Blaine since they'd been in the middle of introductions). He was pretty obviously a city boy born and bred anyhow – that made her the brains behind their survival, for the most part. She was the one who set up the traps just outside the tall wooden fence around the house, the ones rigged to send a line of cans clanging together to alert them of danger, or send a segment of a heavily weighted tool straight through a skull of the nearest john (that one, in particular, had proved pretty easy, seeing as most of the tools she'd found out in the ragtag old shed in the yard were so rusty that they practically snapped in half if you even _thought _about them).

"I'll be sure t'work on tha', darlin'." The redheaded male had rolled his eyes and stalked away in response, muttering something about how 'even during the end of the goddamned world, women were still complicated'. "I'm goin' t'get dinner started, so you stay oughta the kitchen, ye useless girl!" She grinned. _I really oughta cut him some slack; He's sensitive._ It just wasn't in her nature to not give the people around her hell, though; It was just what she did, how she showed people she actually gave a damn about them, since she was awful at saying that much.

Since actually vocalizing any of her feelings was just too hard, left her nervous and scrambling for a way to actually phrase things that didn't make her sound like an uneducated idiot, she stuck to raising hell – playing pranks, making jokes (which was probably a bad way to go, since she had sort of a sick sense of humour) – and the occasional physical display of affection. Words were what failed her time and time again – she wasn't a wordsmith, and she wasn't good with people, and those two things combined in a way that rarely meant anything good. The sheer number of times she had tried to make a joke and seriously offended _at least _one of the people around her was embarrassing. It wasn't like she started the jokes with the intention of upsetting anyone; she just forgot that not everyone out there had a sense of humour born of years upon years of reading books like American Psychoand watching movies like _Fight Club _and _Night of the Living Dead_.

After what had to have been a good twenty minutes of her lounging on the couch, nose buried in a copy of The Prose Edda, the only book she'd managed to snag when she'd left her home deserted, she frowned. It had been silent aside from the sounds coming from the kitchen up until now – she could hear _something _outside, she just wasn't sure what. Had the johns gotten by the traps, past the fence, managed to get all the way to the house? Or was it just a handful of unfortunate little animals, stuck outside? Carefully marking her page, she set her book beside her and pushed herself up, half-jogging into the kitchen.

"Blaine! You hearin' that?" As she spoke, the noise grew louder, this time accompanied by voices. That was somewhat concerning – so far, Blaine was the only person she'd run into, but she didn't particularly like the idea of finding more people who had survived this. There was no way they could actually be trustworthy after three months of scrounging for food and other supplies, right? They had to want something, and if she were in their shoes, she'd be willing to do anything to get that. Her mouth twitched downward as she took a few steps forward to grab the machete off of the counter. "Grab Twila, we'll meet these folks 'round the back." Her companion nodded, retrieving his crossbow and several bolts from the table as he followed after her. Luckily (or maybe not), the back door was in an area of the house surrounded largely by rooms that were currently not in use, giving them room to hide, should they need it. With the key hanging from a rubber band around her wrist, she carefully undid each of the four locks on the door, taking a deep breath.

_Now or never, now or never, now or never._

Grip tight on her machete, she tugged open the door and stepped into the sunlight, squinting. So far, nothing, but she could hear the footsteps rounding the corner just a few feet away. Nothing to do now but wait and be ready. When the source of the footsteps finally appeared, it was obvious that they were surprised – and largely unarmed, if the fact that nothing had been thrown or shot. Luna took a moment to look over the four who stood in front of her: a tall, rather gangly man with dark hair and brilliantly blue eyes – he'd obviously been fairly thin even before this; another man, this one shorter, maybe five foot eight, with hair the colour of straw and green eyes flecked with gold; a woman, small, frail looking, with dark hair that had obviously been cut into a chin-length bob before all this and eyes that were a blue so pale that it actually made her uncomfortable; and finally, a girl who couldn't have been older than seventeen at the most, body all awkward angles, her hair dark at the roots and a faded purple at the ends – and eyes even darker than Blaine's.

"What d'you want?"

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><p>Three days now since the other four had joined her and Blaine. Introductions had been made over hastily-prepared bowls of canned tomato soup - the tallest among the recent additions to the group was a man by the name of Colton, who had been a tax accountant until this started; the other man, Derek, had been in the process of getting his teaching credentials; next came Tara, the woman with the blue eyes - she had just finished getting her degree in something involving design; finally was Marlene, the girl who was barely two full years younger than Luna herself. So far, they hadn't proved to be much trouble, but both Luna and Blaine would readily admit that it was taking quite a bit of getting used to, having an extra four people around. They hadn't been together long, but it had taken all of two days for them to get into the swing of things - up early, check the perimeter, hunt if it was needed, occasionally head into town for some looting, bed not long after dark - and these new people seemed to think it strange.<p>

"Marlene, if you wanna shower, y'need to get _up_!" Luna caught something mumbled into the teen's pillow, but she wasn't sure what, and frowned. "It's nearly noon, and if you want to stay here, _you'll get your ass up now_. We aren't keeping the generators on all day - once they're off, they're off 'til we turn 'em on next. Who knows when that'll be." She understood not wanting to get up, she really did, but they couldn't afford to just leave the generators on all day so some spoiled little brat could sleep all day. The noise would attract the johns sooner or later - which was why she and Blaine didn't turn it on all that frequently. "You've been bitchin' about wanting to shower since you got here, and you ain't got the right to march your scrawny ass in here and act like the queen of the goddamn world, so get the fuck up!"

When she was met with another incoherent grumble as the teen rolled to face the wall, she set her jaw. That was _it_. She knelt beside Marlene's sleeping form, feeling the bed sink beneath her weight, and gripped the girl's shoulder tight enough to bruise. "Let's get this straight, _pet_: Blaine and I, we chose to let you and your buds in here. I have _no _qualms about throwin' your ass outside and leavin' you to the johns, do you hear me?" she hissed. She wasn't pleased to have to resort to tactics such as this, she really wasn't, but if that was the only way to get it into Marlene's thick skull that the end of the goddamn world was here and, as such, she couldn't afford to sit around like this. They may have been pretty well blocked off from any of the johns getting to them, but there had been a few stragglers before, and if those could figure out how to get to the house, so could more of them, and so could more people. "Blaine wouldn't be happy with it, but I don't give a shit. You got me? If it comes down to the survival of me and four other people, I _will _sacrifice you for the greater good."

That seemed to strike a chord with Marlene, who immediately tore her shoulder from Luna's grasp and pushed herself into a sitting position, glaring. "You ain't got the balls to throw me out, and you know it."

Luna couldn't help it, she laughed – not her usual laugh, the sound warm and smooth like honey, but a hollow, echoing laugh that accompanied a rather feral looking grin. "You don't know shit about me, pet, so don't try and act like you do. I may only be a couple of years older than you, but that doesn't mean I'm some helpless little girl." Another hollow laugh fell from her lips, and, despite the fact that she hadn't been religious in the slightest since she was nine years old, she couldn't help wondering if her family could see her now and if they were disturbed, disappointed, worried. "When all this started, you wanna know who the first person I had to put a bullet in was, Marlene? His name was Gunnar Marshall, and he was my next-door neighbor, and my _best friend._"

Backing away from the bed, she began pacing, hands clasped behind her back. "He was my best friend, had been since we were seven. We still on the same page here, _pet_? He was my best friend, and when this all started, he was one of the first people I saw get sick. Figured he just had a cold or somethin', that wasn't outta the ordinary for him. But he only got worse – got pale, got weak, got delirious. The antibiotics he had didn't help." Here, she had to stop, force her eyes shut, take a deep breath. _Ten, nine, eight, seven, six…_ "And when he changed, it was terrifying. He… He was… It was like someone completely different had taken over his body. It still looked like him – sick, but him – but it… All it did was growl and snap at you. And his eyes…" Her voice cracking, she swore loudly. "His eyes had always been this beautiful shade of blue, but they'd faded by then – this creepy, icy blue like you see on corpses in movies. And I wanted to save him, s-so badly, but… I knew. And so I put a bullet in 'im." When she turned back to Marlene, her eyes were hard, her jaw set. "So let's make somethin' clear between the two of us: one of the only people in the world who mattered to me is dead and gone _and not even buried_, and if you think I have any problem with letting someone I don't even know _die _if it means that not just me, but _four other people_ can go on livin', I will not hesitate to leave you to die."

With that, she turned to trudge out the door of the room. "Now get up and get showered so we can shut off the generators."

Did Luna feel guilty for dealing with the problem as she had? Yes, yes, she did. But that didn't change the fact that it was a life or death situation just being alive in a world like this, and she simply did what she could to get that stubborn, stubborn girl to understand that they all needed to cooperate around here. If that meant making threats and telling stories she wasn't ready to tell, then so be it. You had to make sacrifices nowadays, and talking about Gunnar had been one she was reluctant to make, but… It seemed to have hammered her point home, at the very least, and she could be grateful for that fact.


	2. Chapter Two: When the Time Comes

**AN: In the interest of being completely honest with you all, I haven't slightest idea where I'm really going with this. I don't know how I want this group to run into the others - I don't even know roughly _when_ in the series I want this take place. So, if you guys have a suggestion or a preference, let me know. Want this to take place around the most recent episode? Review. Want it to take place closer to the events of season one? Review (and preferably mention an _episode_ of season one for this to be near). Hell, even review if you hate how this is going or hate one of the characters. Give me criticism, give me suggestions, or this will hit a dead end and fast. I'm hoping to be able to bring in the other group in the next chapter, so hopefully by the time I start writing that, I've gotten a few reviews to give me some ideas. On another note, most chapters of this probably will not come out this quickly - I am a freshman in college, and though the semester is drawing to close, I do have quite a bit of work to do. I'm aiming, roughly, for an update a month; two if I can swing it. Most of them will probably be around this length, give or take.  
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><p>It took a majority of the day to get Marlene downstairs after the little chat Luna had had with her. Knowing that the redheaded woman who'd taken them in, the one who'd seemed so cheery (if a little bit more sarcastic than Marlene really knew how to deal with - she was used to <em>being<em> the sarcastic one, not _dealing _with the sarcastic one) was capable of pushing things aside so well... It unsettled her. If she was capable of putting on a smile after all of that, who knew what she was fully capable of doing, right? But it wasn't her place to say anything to the rest of the group - Derek would definitely tell her that she was overreacting, Tara would just give her _that look_, the one that screamed 'I feel so sorry for you', and Colton... Colton would probably tell her it was only natural to have suspicions about people they'd just met, but that she had nothing to worry about. All in all, it was pretty safe to say that her paranoia would be shoved away because the others were so happy to have a real roof over their heads that she _must_ be overreacting; she understood that, she really did. It was wonderful to have a roof over her head; it gave her some stability, let her feel like one thing in her life was normal.

Did that change the fact that she wished the rest of her group would show some good sense and be a little bit more wary of the strangers who they were staying with? As far as they knew, these people were cannibals or something creepy like that (okay, so maybe they didn't have the shaking that always seemed to accompany cannibalism in films and television shows - was that a legit thing? - but it was still a possibility, in her mind)! Times like these, it was even more dangerous to just hand over your trust, and she wasn't about to do that, no sir. She happened to like living most days, despite all the zombie bullshit - she was in the company, largely, of people who were good to her, helped her, worked with her (and she was practically ass over tits for Derek, even if he _was _something like ten years older than her, not that she planned on admitting_ that _any time soon), and, above all, she was _alive_. None of that meant that she had to throw caution to the wind at the first sign of a friendly gesture. _ Weeks_ had passed before she'd trusted the other members of her group to tell them any more than her name; It had been two months since she'd joined them and still they only knew her name, where she'd come from, and her age.

And don't even get her started on that Blaine guy. While she appreciated the fact that he seemed to do his very best to make everyone feel included, something about him just didn't sit right with her (that one, she was willing to admit, was probably her paranoia - meeting men at a time like this made her a bit nervous). It wasn't like he was creepy or anything, and he didn't seem apt to making crude jokes (at least, not at the expense of anyone other than Luna or himself, which was a bit weird because she and the rest of _her _group were under the impression that they were family), and he seemed to be fairly educated as far as she could guess... There was just something off.

And she wanted to find out what.

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><p>"Blaine, you ain't gettin' it! We have an extra four people here - we're going to run out of food and <em>fuel<em> sooner or later!" she whispered harshly at the large man. "We're either going to have to pack up and move, or we're going to have to kick 'em out." And that was assuming that the food didn't run low and cause everyone's tempers to... Well, everything would just probably be a series of outbursts and spurts of violence, and she would be lying if she said she didn't think that she would be one of the people at the front of that. "We've got enough for a week or two, _maybe_, with the six of us here. So you need to make a damn decision; I already know what I'm rootin' for."

In the end, she'd leave it to Blaine to make the decision - he believed in strength in numbers, where she believed that the more people were in a group, the more worries you had. She didn't want to have more people to worry about, because worrying meant being attached, and being attached meant that things were going to be even worse if someone died. Losing somebody was something she'd already gone through, and she didn't know if she could handle that again; It would send her spiraling into some sort of mental breakdown (and she wasn't entirely sure she wasn't on the road there already, to be honest). That was part of why she wasn't doing a whole lot of talking with the newer members of the group - she had no desire to lose anyone else. It was already going to be bad enough if she lost Blaine, who she'd promised herself she wasn't going to end up attached to, and it was plain to see how well _that_ had worked for her.

As she turned to march out of the room, Blaine caught her by the wrist. "_Luna_, ye gotta give me somethin' more t'go on, here. Suggestions or somethin', ye know?"

Sighing and gently extricating her hand from Blaine's grip, Luna shook her head. "It's comin' down to your decision. You know they'd _definitely _be gone, if it were up to me. I ain't of the 'safety in numbers' school of thought." That seemed a good enough line to leave him with, proof enough that she planned on staying whether he kept the new folks around or not (at least, in her books, it was - Blaine might not fully pick up on that), and proof enough that she really was leaving the decision to him. She was fully aware of what he was going to choose - at least, if she read him half so well as she thought she did, she knew - and she couldn't hold that against him just because it wasn't what she would do.

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><p>Blaine didn't like the idea of all of this coming down to the decision <em>he <em>had to make. He'd feel guilty keeping them around, because it obviously made Luna uncomfortable, but he'd also feel guilty leaving the others, because he really did believe in safety in numbers. Who knows what any of the newcomers could bring to the table the he or Luna couldn't? Mentally, he tried to compile a list of pros and cons for both arguments, but the pressure he was placing on himself was too much - he couldn't think of much either way. More people made for more company and a wider array of skills, but it also meant foods and fuels would run out more quickly, and with more people, fights and such were more likely. If they could just find another base of operations after leaving here, then they could get everything blocked off and send a couple of people into the closest town to loot food and any other necessities. With more than just him and Luna around, it would be easier to hold down the fort _and _go looting, and with more than just two people, they'd be able to move more stuff in a short amount of time.

All in all, it really did seem like there were more reasons for him to keep the group together and move on.

So what did they do now? Pack up everything they could fit in the bed of the truck and then pile in and drive? They'd be able to siphon the fuel from the generators into the three gas cans they had, and that probably wouldn't hold all of it - but he'd rather have all that diesel with them if the truck ran low than leave for anyone else who happened by. Was that selfish? _Is anythin' really selfish anymore? It's all 'bout survivin', it's not 'bout doin' shit all on your own anymore, _he tried to reason with himself. _Then ag'in, th'need t'survive is pretty damn selfish in'nd of itself._

He didn't like to think of himself as a selfish man, but here, now, being selfless could get him killed. That wouldn't do; He fully intended on surviving this stupid apocalypse and moving on to make something of himself afterwards. If nothing else, this served as a way to hit the reset button on his life, and for that he was immensely grateful. He definitely didn't want to be stuck working shitty, minimum wage jobs for the rest of his life, and with the way the economy had been, it had looked like that was what was going to happen. Years of hoping and praying, and he'd never even gotten a promotion - and that was with three years at his first job, three at his second, and three at his most recent. It wasn't as though the jobs had been awful - sure, the pay was shit, and the tasks largely menial, but his coworkers had generally been wonderful, and his bosses weren't dicks. To him, anyways. But that was beside the point.

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><p>Derek sighed heavily, folding his arms behind his head. "I don't know, guys. The chick doesn't talk much to anyone other than Blaine, and Blaine seems like he's pretty damn thrilled to have someone other than his sister around."<p>

"I don't know about you, but if my sister was the only person I could spend time with for a long-ass time, I'd be fuckin' _ecstatic_ to have some other people around," Colton said with a shrug. "But I fucking _hate _my sister, so I'm not exactly the person you should talk to about that." That wasn't even an exaggeration - there wasn't a single person that he had actually met that he hated as much as he hated his sister. He didn't give a shit if he was _supposed _to love her because she was family; She was a shitty person, and that wasn't something that just _magically _canceled out because of a blood relation.

"Look, man, I'm just sayin', we probably don't have to be worried about them kickin' us out or anything." At least not until resources ran real tight, and with the fact that Blaine had gone out hunting twice in the past three days, Derek was willing to wager they had at least a week, so long as they were careful. Wouldn't be too bad - pretty much everything seemed absolutely _golden_ with a real roof over your head and a real bed beneath you. "You're that worried about it, I say you talk to Blaine 'bout it anyhow. What about you, Tara? You haven't said shit since _you _started this conversation."

The brunette frowned. "I don't like the idea of being thrown out if supplies run low, and I _really _don't like the idea of leaving two people on their own. Safety in numbers, right?" That was the only reason she wasn't worried about her family - while she'd been finishing up the last few weeks of a summer class, her closest relatives had headed to Cardiff for a family reunion (the lot of them - her parents, five siblings, eight nieces and nephews, and four siblings-in-law - had made her promise to keep in touch, so they knew when she'd be able to head over), which left them in a pretty big group, even if they broke off into smaller groups. Her family was, to put it very lightly, _huge_. "But they never told us how long they were okay with us stayin' - just sort of let us in."

There was silence for a few moments before there was a sharp whistle and they heard Blaine call out, summoning everyone to him.

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><p>"Alrigh', folks, 's time we had a lil' talk." Blaine said lightly, looking vaguely nervous. <em>This <em>was a situation that his public speaking class freshman year of college should have covered; forget 'how to address city hall'. "As we've told ye, up 'til you lot came 'round, 't was jus' me and Luna here. We had plenty for the two of us t'keep holed up here for another month'nd a half'r so."

He hadn't realized how poorly he'd phrased that until four of the five other people in the room exchanged guilty, worried looks. "Er, I don' mean to t'sound like I'm blamin' you or anythin'. I'm jus', uh... I'm gettin' t'my point, so hold on." Drumming his fingers on the tabletop before him for a moment, he was completely silent. _Probably shoulda tried t'plan out this lil' speech b'forehand. _"We're prob'ly goin' t'have t'get movin' within the week - pack as much as we c'n into the bed of the truck and move on, try'nd find a place with even fewer of the johns runnin' 'round."

"Quit beatin' around the bush, Blaine!" Luna interrupted from her seat on the counter, rolling her eyes. "He's tryin' to tell you lot that you can come with, if you'd like."

An uncomfortable silence settled as the others exchanged looks - Blaine wasn't sure if they were looks of disbelief or looks of 'how do we tell these crazy people that we want nothing to do with them once they leave'. Though he liked to play at it, he'd never been all that good at reading people who he'd only known for a couple of days.

"We wouldn't want to _impose o_n this little family thing..." Derek started, pausing only when Luna and Blaine stared at him as though he'd suddenly grown an extra limb. "What?"

"The fuck does that mean, _family thing_?"

Colton pursed his lips before speaking up. "Aren't you two, I don't know, brother and sister or something?"

"'re you _serious_?" Met with a nod, Blaine couldn't help it - he laughed. Hell, he went a fair bit past normal laughter; he ended up doubled over in the kitchen, clutching his stomach as the muscles began to ache.

With a snort, Luna took it upon herself to answer. "We hardly even know each other," she explained with a shrug and a rather displeased look shot in the direction of the still-laughing Blaine. "Only met two weeks ago. We ain't family, sweets."

"So, will you come with?"

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><p>Two days later, they had all they could fit piled into the covered bed of the truck: blankets, designated bags of clothing, pillows, all the food and drink left in the house, three tents (one of which was quite small and had resulted in two mattress pads being stripped off the beds in the house and shoved into the truck as well, so someone could sleep in the truck bed), and the filled gas cans. Luna just wished that there had been room for more - there were soaps and utensils and things, but a majority of them hadn't been deemed 'necessary' and had been left when they ran out of room. They'd definitely want to find another vehicle or two if they wanted (or <em>needed<em>) anything else, or they'd have to go without.

"Ev'rybody good t'go? Gotta piss or anythin'? 'Cause I don' plan on stoppin' any time soon. Wanna put as much distance between us and this place as possible."

"Just drive, we're already in the truck!"

This was going to be a long drive.


	3. Chapter Three: Movin' Out, Movin' On

**And here's the next chapter. As per usual, constructive criticism would be appreciated, as writing is only something I do as a hobby, and, if I'm being completely honest, I don't think I'm actually _good _at it (also, I'm rather iffy about the chapter lengths - I know that it is difficult for me to keep my attention on some of the longer chapters, which is why I chose this length, but how do you guys feel?). Hell, this wasn't even originally intended to be a TWD fic; it started out as a zombie story for NaNoWriMo, which I quickly realized I just do not have the time for. The survivors of my creation are based rather heavily on people I know, the names and ages being the only things that were tweaked, really; Blaine wasn't even originally going to have his crossbow. That was an alteration I made as I wrote the second chapter for NaNoWriMo, shortly before deciding to scrap that and turn it into a fic, and it sort of stuck. That being said, this is based solely on the show, as I haven't read the comics - so if there's something you'd want to see, according to the comics, go ahead and mention that.**

**And on a final note, forgive my mediocre portrayal of canon characters - I've never written them, so this is my first shot.  
><strong>

* * *

><p>Luna honestly didn't even have the smallest idea of how long they'd been driving. and she didn't care. She just knew that she wanted to <em>stop <em>soon, because her legs were starting to ache. There wasn't _nearly _enough room for her legs, with Derek sitting behind her; why he couldn't let Tara sit there, she didn't know. It would have allowed her more room for her legs so she didn't have to spend a good portion of the ride fidgeting or sitting cross-legged (and there _may _have been a good twenty minutes where she had her legs dangling out the window of the truck and her head resting on Marlene's lap, much to the teenager's displeasure, before Blaine had noticed and brought the truck to a stop until she was 'properly seated'). The long drive, obvious discomfort aside, wouldn't have been nearly so bad if they had more than a couple of extremely scratched mix CD's to ease the silence between forced conversations. Hearing the same series of something like twenty-five songs over and over and _over _again, skipping in the same inopportune places every single time, it really grated on your nerves - one of her favourite bands in the world was The Doors, but she could only handle hearing 'I w-w-w-w-w-w-woke up this morning and go-o-o-o-ot mys-s-s-self a beer' so many times.

"Do we have _anything _else? A fuckin' cassette tape or somethin'?" Really, it was surprising that it had taken her this long to snap - for the last five minutes, they'd been hearing the CD skipping it's way through Disturbed's _Violence Fetish_, and she was seriously considering just throwing it out the goddamn window pretty soon (and kind of hoping that if she did, it'd go far enough to stick in the head of one of those damn zombies). "I'd settle for a damn audiobook or some shit."

Marlene snickered beside her, but otherwise remained silent until she was elbowed in the side. "Hey!"

"Both of ye, shut up!" Blaine barked from the driver's seat, hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles had gone white. "Marlene, now ain't the time f'r instigatin'; _Luna,_" the woman in question winced at the sound of her given name from the man who was apparently her honorary zombie apocalypse _brother_, "if yer gonna bitch 'bout the music, do somethin' 'bout it. It's this or yer singin', are we _clear_?"

"Or we could just have _quiet_, since the music's probably drawin' johns," Luna suggested lightly, quirking a brow. She understood that tensions were running a bit high and they'd been driving for a while now, but that didn't change her opinion - the skipping CD's were irritating, even if they weren't all that loud, and Blaine _still _needed a serious chill pill (or a _massive _joint).

"Yeah, we saw how well we're all handlin' complete silence; no music's a no-go, darlin'."

"We've been listenin' to the same CDs for a long-ass fuckin' time, forgive me for wantin' that to change for a while! It's seriously preferable to hear fuckin' _Careless Whisper_ skipping like fifty times? What about '_Take m-m-m-e d-d-d-down t-t-to the p-p-p-para-ra-dise c-c-city_' over and over again is pleasant?"

"Shut up or sing, those're yer choices."

Fixing him with a piercing glare, Luna crossed her arms over her chest. She wished that Blaine hadn't walked into the kitchen to find her singing one of the first days they'd been in each other's company - it would have made lying about her ability to sing a whole hell of a lot easier. It wasn't that she thought she was bad; she just didn't think she was all that great, either. Her mother had always said she had a nice voice - somewhat smoky, but light and feminine at the same time (honestly, she didn't know what in the _fuck _that meant). "Any requests, then?"

Tara piped up from the back, looking hesitant despite her smile. "Do you know _The Cave_ by Mumford and Sons? I love that song." When she saw the redheaded woman nod, she grinned, settling back into her seat.

"_It's empty in the valley of your heart; the sun, it rises slowly as you walk away from all the fears and all the faults you've left behind._"

* * *

><p>It was nearly dark by the time they finally stopped driving, backing the truck up into a clearing just inside the clusters of trees lining the highway. Luna immediately set about rigging traps around the edges of the clearing - strings of cans that she'd pieced together back at the house hung between trees, tripwires pulled taut enough to trip up people or animals and hopefully remove the feet of any johns wandering near by. Sure, odds were that they would only be here for the night and a small portion of the next day, but she sure as fuck didn't want to wake up to a dead guy chewing on the edge of her tent or a Beretta in her face - it wasn't her idea of fun.<p>

The fact that they couldn't pull everything out of the truck for Blaine to sleep wasn't even an issue: he was taking first watch, and she had agreed to take second, which meant he could have her sleeping bag, and Tara had offered to take a third watch whenever Luna felt as though she was going to collapse.

She really couldn't wait until they found somewhere good and solid to stay, so that they wouldn't have to deal with all of this sleeping bag switch-off bullshit. Hopefully, it wasn't going to take long - they only had so much with them, could only find so much more that they could actually carry. _Hopefully_, they'd find another vehicle they could use. _Hopefully_, they'd find a new place to stay. That was all they really had now, _hope_. They couldn't lean on knowing better days would come, like they could before, because they didn't know that anymore; as far as they knew, they wouldn't even wake up the next day.

She missed the days when the only certainty she had was that she was going to wake up.

"Can ye get Twila outta th'cab, Loki?"

_Everythin's back to normal, then_? Luna thought drily, giving him a thumbs up as she marched around to the front of the truck. After giving the area within her vision a brief sweep, watching for movements in the trees, she turned and tugged the driver's side door open, releasing a rather unladylike snort of laughter when she saw the crossbow nestled almost delicately into the seat. _You'd think he thought the thing was a goddamn **child**_.

"Take this, then!" She demanded flatly, pushing the crossbow rather clumsily into his hands.

"'ey! This's the thanks I get f'r settin' yer tent up f'r ye?" Blaine complained, vaguely gesturing in the direction of the small tent set up just a few feet away. "Got yer sleepin' bag all set up and everythin'."

After eying him for a few silent moments, half-expecting something to have exploded in the tent by then, she nodded and forced a toothy grin. "Damn right, that's the thanks y'get. Didn't you get the memo? We're _siblings_," she snorted, "and, as the younger of the two, it's my job t'give you shit. Pretty sure it's an unwritten rule of siblings 'r something. I used to give Teddy hell all the time." At her own mention of her brother, her face fell. While they may not have always been on the best of terms, he _was _her sibling, and that counted for something, right? She wasn't usually one to believe in all that '_you gotta love your family_' bullshit (as far as she was concerned, someone's relation to you was a pretty shitty reason to love them - in her mind, the trust and love was supposed to be _earned,_ not handed over), but that was how it had always worked with her brother. He had done his best to keep in touch when he could, but they hadn't really seen each other enough for a real feeling of love or hate to stick as they got older; he'd never been bad to her, though, always treated her well when he was around.

She hoped he was all right.

* * *

><p>The sun was high in the sky by the time all of them were up and moving, tucking the last of their things into the bed of the truck and pushing the tailgate shut. With an almost affectionate pat on the bumper, Luna trailed back around to the open passenger side door.<p>

"Alrigh', move it or lose it, Buckaroo Banzai," she said lightly, tugging her ponytail through the back of her baseball cap as she waited for Marlene to move over. When she looked up, she found the teen staring at her, an eyebrow raised. "You gonna move, 'r what?"

"Who the hell is 'Buckaroo Banzai'?"

Luna opened her mouth to speak, before sighing and pinching the bridge of her nose, deciding against it. "I'll explain while we drive. Move your ass or I'm sittin' on you, pet."

* * *

><p>Roughly two hours later, as the truck came to a stop in the bright Georgia sun, Luna had explained not only who Buckaroo Banzai was, but also the plot of the movie he was the main character of <span>and<span> the plot of a movie called Labyrinth, to the best of her ability. Granted, the explanation wasn't exactly stellar without visuals, but she could make due. It wasn't like she had anything _better _to do with her time - most of her books had been left at her house when she ran (and the small handful she had packed were currently at the bottom of her bag, in the bed of the truck), she couldn't draw to save her life, and she wasn't much for writing.

Good thing being in the middle of a _goddamned zombie apocalypse _didn't leave a lot of down time.

"**Sophia!**"

Unlike the others, who seemed to have frozen in place like they weren't quite sure they'd actually heard something (well, Blaine didn't seem to be reacting at all, really - he just kept going about his task of filling up the gas tank), she had practically flown out of the vehicle (something she didn't plan on doing again any time soon, because she only just missed smashing her face against the pavement when she stepped on one of her bootlaces as she readied herself to take the next damn step), almost bowling Blaine over as she skidded around the back to pluck her machete from amidst the rest of their things.

"Whoa, there, Loki! Where's th'damn fire?"

"You can_not _tell me that you didn't hear that!"

"Yer right, I can't; Mostly 'cause I ain't gotta damn clue what yer talkin' 'bout!"

"**Sophia!**"

Rolling her eyes as she motioned in the direction of the call, Luna snapped, "Y'hear it that time, y'big idiot?" If he'd honestly missed it the first time, she didn't get _how_ - the sounds were coming from somewhere on the other side of cluster of trees they'd parked in, carrying from the highway most likely. At least, that was what she was hoping - if someone had taken the time to set up some elaborate trap with a walkie or a tape recorder... Well, at the very least, she had to applaud them for having the idea, even if it ended up being what killed her.

"_Sophia!_"

No, that time it was _definitely _closer than it had been - there was no way this was just a recording.

"We've got t'check that out. Other survivors c'ld be a big help - 'specially 'f they've got more people who c'n hunt, bring in food f'r the group..."

Luna frowned. Oh, she already knew full well where this was going, and she didn't like it, not one bit. Why did Blaine seem to think that there was strength in larger numbers? It was going to be hard enough to keep their group of six fed for an extended period of time - hunting or no, adding more people to that couldn't possibly mean anything good. "Oh, no, no, no, no. No, Blaine, no. We've already got four people with us; who knows how big this other group is?"

"But if it's a larger group wit' more hunters, it won' be too bad! There's still places t'loot 'round here, 'nd I think we're pretty near farmin' country - we c'n grow shit, if we fin' a stable place!" Blaine's face had lit up as he returned the cap to the gas can, eyes bright and smile wide. It was obvious that he wanted to join up with this other group, if his bright smile and voice that had steadily been growing louder as he spoke were any indication. When she punched him in the arm (with a bit more force than was necessary, admittedly) and motioned for him to be quiet, he frowned. "Look, I know y'ain't really up f'r joinin' up wit' more people, but if it helps t'keep us fed 'nd they know places t'loot, then it's worth it, ain't it?"

There were a few tense moments where she seriously considered just knocking Blaine out and dragging him back to the truck, and hauling ass out of there (and when she said 'seriously considered', she meant 'would have if Blaine hadn't knelt to lift the gas can, causing her to miss'). It was the hopeful look on his face that kept her from doing so. "_Fuck_. Fine. Grab Twila." she frowned as she heard movement in the trees. "And tell Colton to bail in twenty, if we ain't back."

* * *

><p>Blaine had been expecting a lot when he moved towards the trees - but a gun and a crossbow aimed at his head? That wasn't a single one of the things he'd been preparing for.<p>

"You bit?" When he made no move to answer, only continued staring, the question was repeated. "_You bit?_"

"I- Wh- N-no, I ain't b'en bit, 'nd neither h's she!" he spat out, shaking his head and holding up his hands, crossbow and all, up in a gesture of surrender. Twila may have been loaded and ready, but two fellas with guns and another with a crossbow? He so much as _thought _about shooting, and he'd have an arrow through one eye and a bullet through the other, and they'd probably take Luna down, too.

"How we s'posed t'know you ain't lyin' so we let ya go?"

From her place a couple of feet to the left of Blaine, Luna snorted, refusing to raise her arms in surrender. "And here, I thought southern boys were meant to have some manners," she commented drily, causing one of the gun-toting bastards (the more attractive one, with the darker hair and a bit of an edge that she found she liked, if she was being completely honest) to turn his attention to her with a frown. "What, 's true, ain't it, _baby_?" She could tell from the look in the man's eyes that goading him was _far _from being a good idea - and it wasn't a good idea in the best of times - so why was she doing it? It was happening without her consent, really; her mouth was moving, but it didn't really seem to be in accordance with her brain. "Y'all're s'posed to know how to treat a lady, ain't you? Oh, don't you look at me like that, you look like you've seen your fair share of women, baby."

The third man seemed to have, for the most part, remained calm - which was more than she had done, so she really did give him some credit, really. "Shane. Daryl."

Neither weapon lowered, and both Blaine and Luna found that they couldn't fault these people for that - if they had been lying about being bitten, all it'd take would be one bite, one scratch, for everything to go straight to hell for those three. Did it make the situation any more comfortable? _Hell no_.

"Sorry 'bout this." The third man seemed apologetic. Well, at least _somebody _around had some manners. "My name is Rick Grimes. This Shane Walsh," he paused to indicated the man standing before Luna, before gesturing to the other man, "and that is Daryl Dixon."

"Loki. That's Blaine." Sooner they got this done and over with, the better, so far as she was concerned; hell, she was only even putting up with this because she was humouring Blaine.

There was a brief pause, after which the crossbow-wielding redneck who had been dubbed Daryl spoke. "The fuck kin'a name is _Loki_?"

"The kind that somebody named _Daryl _ain't got a right to judge, we clear?" When Luna made the mistake of taking a step towards Daryl, Shane took a step forward.

"Wouldn't do that if I were you, darlin'," he commented. When she quirked a brow, he shot her a smug smirk, shifting his firearm to allow her to see that the safety was off - and that a single tug on the trigger would put a bullet in whatever poor bastard he deemed worthy.

_Step in, step in, step in_. "Look, folks, we got our people t'get back to, so if ye don' need anythin', maybe we oughta be partin' ways."

Rick nodded. "It seems like that'd be the thing to do; I just have a question for you two. You seen a little girl, 'bout so tall? She's been missin' for 'bout half an hour now."

Blaine frowned deeply, the expression strange on his normally happy face. "Nah, we ain't seen a little girl. Youngest we've seen is 'bout eighteen, 'nd she's with us."

"You say there's more of you?"


	4. Chapter Four: Come Take The Weight

**Annnd next chapter. It does seem a bit rushed, I know, but there were pieces that just didn't seem to come out well no matter how many times I rewrote them or had people look over them and give me suggestions. I'm hoping a quick re-watch of season one and season two so far will help a bit - if it does, I'll edit the chapter and throw up the new version.  
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><p>"Look, all we've gotta do is check you for bites, just to make sure; Already got the rest of your group."<p>

"I don' give a flyin' fuck if the rest o' my group agreed t'jump offa goddamn bridge, _of-fi-cer_!" Luna ground out, jabbing Shane's chest with her index finger between the syllables of the word 'officer'. "You may o' been a big shot Before, but your bein' a law man don't mean _shit_ now. Ya can't jus' fuckin' order me t'let ya fuckin' _inspect _me for bite marks; jus' take my goddamn word for it!" She may have fully understood that this was a necessary evil, but that didn't mean she was happy about it. Unlike the rest of her group, she wasn't exactly itching for more people to worry about, and she sure as _fuck _didn't remember agreeing to letting some pretty boy police officer hung up on his power get her naked or anything close to it, just to check for some goddamn bites she didn't even have.

"Look here, darlin', your whole group wants to join up, all right? You either leave 'em, or you let somebody check you for the damn bites!"

"Don't you 'look here, darlin'', me, you-" She managed to force herself to stop there, letting out a strangled sound of frustration and clenching her hands so tightly into fists that she could feel her poor, bitten nails threatening to cut ragged little half-moons into her palms. It may have been much smarter to just get on with it, let him check her over so she could get out and the group could have some sort of stability, but she hadn't ever been someone to just do the smart thing and let it be over with. This Shane fella was lucky she hadn't thrown a punch - any other time, and she probably would have.

It had taken a short moment of her taking deep breaths for her to finally concede to this stupid 'examination'. "I wouldn' trust ya as far as I could throw ya, just so we're _absolutely_ clear here."

"And why is that?"

"You mean, 'side from the fact that you're kind of a dick?" She asked flatly, raising an eyebrow as she looked at him over her shoulder. "Could be the fact that we're in the middle of some sorta fuckin' _apocalypse _and it's already hard enough to trust the one person I do, since he keeps jumpin' at the chance to join up with other groups."

"Your brother?" Shane didn't sound irritated (like she certainly would have if someone told her that they didn't trust her, regardless of the situation), simply curious.

Deciding she didn't like people being curious about her, she frowned slightly, initially deciding to skip over the question. "So, do I get the okay, _officer_?" When she received a nod in response, she did her best to straighten herself up, tugging her button-up green and blue flannel top back on over her tank top. "I got a brother, but he ain't here with me. Me and Blaine aren't even related; don't get why everybody assumes we are. 'side from the red hair, I don't think we even look all that much alike."

* * *

><p>In the past two and a half days, leading up to their settling on a farm owned by a family apparently called the Greenes after Rick's son, Carl, had been shot, Luna had learned a whole lot about the members of the group they'd joined up with. For the most part, it was all information that wasn't particularly helpful <em>now<em>, but she supposed it gave her a sense of who these people were. She'd tried to form a list of things about these people in her mind, in case anything required it, but said list was sloppy even after being written down (especially after some recent events required a lot of crossing out or erasing or adding to some peoples' sections).

**1. Rick - c****op - Lori, wife + Carl, son  
>leader? - unflappable (seriously, the hell is up with this guy? is he an android or something? he's always fucking calm), <span>hospitalized until recently, presumed dead by family<span>  
><strong>

**2. Lori - occupation unknown - Rick, husband + Carl, son  
>wound real tight - hiding something?, <span>recent relationship with Shane?, too hard on Carl (in my opinion)<span>  
><strong>

**3. Carl - student (he's what, 12?) - Lori, mother + Rick, father  
>good kid (real respectful), <span>hunting accident - seems to be recovering well enough<span>  
><strong>

**4. Andrea - occupation unknown - Amy, sister, deceased + possible ties to Dale?  
>grieving loss of Amy - seems unnecessarily hostile towards people trying to help, <span>kind of a bitch (I want to like her, I do, but it ain't working)<span>  
><strong>

**5. Dale - retired - possible ties to Andrea?  
>trustworthy, helpful-keep that in mind, <span>dead wife<span>  
><strong>

**6. Glenn - pizza delivery boy (explains how he's so damn squirrely, I guess) - n/a  
>nice guy, if a little awkward - pop culture references are a bonus, <span>into Maggie Greene?<span>  
><strong>

**7. Daryl - occupation unknown - Merle, brother, missing (seems like everyone but Daryl thinks he's dead)  
>closed off - only one with any damn sense (people should probably listen to him more), <span>does he even know what sleeves are?<span>  
><strong>

**8. Shane - cop - Rick, best friend/partner  
>initial impression: kind of a dick<br>not too bad, if a bit abrasive (and still kind of a dick) - leader version 1.0, recent relationship with Lori?, hiding something - not sure i trust him, seems real stressed and kinda real fucking crazy  
><strong>

** 9. Carol - occupation unknown - Ed, husband (abusive bastard, I'm guessing), deceased + Sophia, daughter, missing  
>stronger than she's given credit for - 'mother' of the group<br>**

All in all, there wasn't going to be a whole lot of socializing with these people on her part, she realized as she went over her list. The only one she outright did not like was Andrea (and she felt a little bad about that, after finding out about the woman's sister), but the rest of them, she didn't really think she'd click with in the long run either. No skin off her nose; she hadn't been the one who'd jumped right in and tried to get this group to join up with them. Really, the fewer people she ended up getting along with well, the better - fewer connections, fewer worries, fewer chances for her to stick her neck out for some poor soul and get herself killed. As it was, she had Blaine, maybe Glenn; Shane was iffy, and any people who people who hadn't been named specifically were even more so.

With a mildly irritated grunt, she tossed the small notebook back into her tent and turned her attention to the pack of cards that had been sitting at her side as she sprawled out on one of her spare blankets in the sun. It felt nice to be outside and _not _feeling as though she was going to be attacked at any moment - she'd even forgone keeping her hair up today, letting the red-gold waves rest around her shoulders as she divided the cards into the appropriately portioned stacks.

"Why, yes, please, do join me, _Officer Walsh_," she commented drily as she put the last card in place, having heard _someone _shuffling around behind her (really, she was just taking a guess at who it was - could have been anyone, and just about anyone seemed more likely to her than Shane), "I do _so _enjoy your company."

Silence, then heavy footsteps. For a moment, she was convinced she'd been correct in guessing her guest and her tone hadn't been received well, causing the man to leave, but she was proved wrong when someone settled on the blanket beside her. Instead of turning to greet them, she returned her focus to the cards in front of her, moving cards into the proper stacks when it was possible and frowning when she ended up stuck, staring down at the cards and just _knowing _that there was something she was missing.

Then a hand was moving in front of her face, shifting a card from one pile to the other and placing the card beneath it into stack for the correct suite. Snorting indignantly and resisting the urge to return those cards to their previous places, she instead pushed herself into a sitting position, turning to glare at Shane.

"It's called 'solitaire', you know. Sorta implies that I'm supposed to play _alone_." Silence. Well, she had sort of been hoping for a smile or a laugh or something, even one that was forced, but she didn't even get that much. How depressing.

Shane had been... Weird, the past few days. Ever since he came back from that school, since Otis had died to help out Carl - and she supposed that she understood that. It must have been unnerving to be the one who survived, given him a serious case of survivor's guilt, especially after the way Patricia had reacted. Did that mean she wished any less that Shane would go back to the completely untrustworthy, asshole cop she'd initially met? Not in the slightest.

"You've be'n weird th'past couple of days," she eventually told him.

* * *

><p><strong>"You've be'n weird th'past couple of days."<strong>

The words were practically ringing in his ears. There had been no accusation there, not in the words or the tone - just questioning, and that was enough to make him mildly panicked. If he was going to lie to Luna, then he was going to have to scrape together every bit of sanity left in him to piece together the same story he'd already told, and right now, he wasn't all that sure he could manage that. The past two days, Otis' death had been replaying behind his eyelids every time he so much as _blinked_, and that was_ without_ people saying anything.

The thing was, Shane was nervous - he could choose to tell the _truth_, but the odds that the the redheaded bitch was going to go run off and tell not only Rick, but Hershel, too, seemed pretty high. He didn't find it funny how the first time he can remember being nervous talking to a woman in who knows how long isn't because of lack of finesse or knowledge of how to approach a woman, but because he had some horrible secret. Never mind that the horrible secret was that Otis _hadn'__t _died like a hero, but gone down a sacrifice with a shot in the leg, and he'd _fought_, tried to be the one to go on - and he hadn't been given the chance. But Shane knew, if one of them had to die for Carl to live, it sure as hell wasn't going to be him.

"_Shane_? 'ey, Walsh, you in there, or're y'goin' for a little vacation in your cabeza?" She was snapping in front of his face, long fingers closer to his eyes than he would have liked under the best circumstances. "Seriously, dude, you okay? You've seemed real out of it." When he didn't answer her, just shrugged and made a small, noncommittal noise, he saw the woman's face shift, the bright, joking smile replaced by a vaguely worried frown that definitely didn't suit much more than her full lips. (_Hell, anything could suit those_). "I know we're all in a shitty situation, and you've prob'ly got survivor's guilt or somethin', but seriously, you all righ'?"

**Survivor's guilt**. Hell, he hadn't had survivor's guilt since the first time he'd shot one of the geeks, and that was because it had been one of his goddamn neighbors - an old lady by the name of Graceanne Kolmteist who had invited him to dinner with the family nearly every weekend and brought him chicken soup when he was ill since she'd moved in all of three years ago with her husband Stellan.

Besides, survivor's guilt implied that he felt guilty for having survived, rather than letting Otis go on - what he felt guilty about was _lying_, not about actually having shot Otis. It was one of them or neither of them, and Shane _knew _he had to be the one to go on; there were more people relying on his return than Otis', an entire damn group plus the kid in critical fucking condition. The Greenes would be fine without Otis - it was Patricia who was going to have a real hard time of it.

Luna was speaking again, but he wasn't listening. He could clearly see her speaking, but it was like she wasn't speaking loudly enough, the words not quite reaching his ears. "Hey, Walsh! Shane? Shane?"

"Don' think "survivor's guilt" is the right phrase for it," he said after a while, staring straight ahead, making no effort to push the woman away as she fussed over him. After taking a discreet glance around to make sure that nobody was around to hear (everyone seemed to be fairly scattered, which was good, and Luna had set up her tend several feet away from everyone else's, which was even better), he spoke again. "Implies we had equal chance t'get outta there."

And just like that, the environment shifted, the redhead recoiling and narrowing her eyes at him as though she thought he was joking. When he didn't grin and break into laughter like she obviously expected (did his sense of humor really come off that twisted?), her eyes narrowed further.

"What did you do?" She hissed at him, delivering a surprisingly strong punch to his arm. "Did you kill him? Are you out of your damn mind?"

"Keep your voice down!"

"T'hell with you, Shane Walsh! What the fuck did you _do_?"

From there, once she'd agreed to _shut the hell up_, he explained (as vaguely as he could manage), what had gone down. He found that didn't particularly like the look in those wide hazel eyes when he finished.

Luna loosed a low, slow whistle. "Guessin' you ain't told anybody, since Grimes ain't lost his shit?" She didn't wait for an answer, just took a deep breath, pushing her hand through her hair and staring at Shane like he'd grown a third head as she continued speaking. "'splains why you've been a little off, then. Shit, man... The fuck you doin' tellin' _me _about it? I just fuckin' met ya! You _are _nuts." It was clear that she didn't know how to handle this. "Did it _have _to be done? Necessary evil? Carl wouldn't be breathin' now if ya hadn't done it?" When she earned a nod in response, she sighed. "All right, all right. Shit. Guess this is between us now, eh?"

* * *

><p>"<em>Oh, on the way down, I saw you, and you saved me from myself, and I won't forget the way you loved me! And on the way down, I almost fell right through, yeah, but I held on to you. Yeah, I held onto you. Yeah, I held onto you!<em>"

From his place beside Tara, the dark-haired woman leaning rather heavily against him as he draped an arm around her shoulders, Blaine grinned let out a short cheer. "Can ye play anythin' else on tha' guitar o' Derek's?"

"I only know a few songs on the guitar, you know that," Luna told him flatly, sticking her tongue out. "It's mostly real easy ones, and I've already gone through 'bout... Six of ten, by now."

Marlene spoke up then, from the opposite side of their little campsite, surprising Luna. "Aw, c'mon! We don't have a radio we can really 'fford to use, you're the best entertainment we got. Ask the boss man! She's the only music we got, right, Rick?"

How Rick had ended up being dubbed 'the boss man' by her little group, she wasn't entirely sure, but she knew that when he gave her a sheepish grin and informed her that he agreed with Marlene, she decided that he shouldn't be allowed to be the boss anymore (which meant, at least, that she didn't really have to feel too bad about keeping the whole 'Shane shot Otis' thing from him, being as the man was officially no longer at the top of the mental hierarchy). "Fine, fine, fine. One more, 'nd then y'all can go read or something. I ain't your slave."

It took her a while to decide on her next song - she was trying to avoid any that were particularly depressing (this situation was bad enough as is, right?), which was... Difficult, because all but one of the last four she knew fell under that category. She obviously should have taken those guitar lessons. "_Well, I just heard the news today. It seems my life is gonna change. I close my eyes, begin t'pray, then tears of joy stream down my face!_"


	5. Chapter Five: Hot Blooded

**Okay, this took longer than expected for several reasons: the holidays; family issues; school starting back up; aaand writer's block. Still got a touch of the writer's block, actually, which is why this chapter is shorter than I would have liked - but no matter how many times I tried rewriting it or approaching it from a different angle, it just wasn't working for me. Hopefully the next one will be better.  
><strong>

* * *

><p>If Luna said that she felt anything other than uncomfortable around Shane as of late, she'd be a liar. She understood that it was tough, carrying the secret he was, but that was no reason to go off the deep end, as far as she was concerned. <em>Especially <em>during the damn apocalypse. Everyone had done at least one thing that they never thought they would do since this bullshit started; Some had gone above and beyond and done _everything _they thought they'd never do. Personally, she was stuck with a very small list of things - shooting Gunnar, burying the blade of her machete in the skull of her elementary school librarian, doing the wash for not just herself but a whole group of people.

Which was what she was currently doing - pinning up the wet clothes so they could dry in the sunlight and gentle breeze, Tara and Marlene doing the same thing on either side of her. "This fuckin' _sucks_." She stated flatly, frowning as she pinned up yet another shirt. "And who the fuck does Andrea fuckin' think she is, tellin' us that _we _have to do this? She ain't in fuckin' charge, useless bi-"

"Let's hear how ya really feel then, Luna."

For a moment, despite the obviously male voice and the rough edge it held, the redhead was absolutely convinced that Andrea had decided to be helpful after all. It was only after a chuckle that she managed to unstick her feet and turn to look at the 'intruder'.

"Ah, bite me, Walsh," she grinned, placing her hands on her hips. All unease around him aside, she'd found that she did sort of like Shane - he was abrasive and kind of an asshole at the worst of times, but it didn't bother her as much as it should have (she was willing to bet that his being attractive was why she was giving him a pass there). "Y'ain't old enough to be my daddy, so you ain't old enough to be tellin' me what to do."

"And what makes you think I ain't old enough to be your daddy?"

Resisting the urge to snort, Luna rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest. "You're, what, mid-thirties at the absolute out?" For a moment, she squinted at him, nodding to herself. "I'm twenty in a coupla days if I ain't missed a day somewhere 'long the line, sweetheart."

"Quit arguin' and keep helpin', Luna," Tara chastised from her spot, continuing to pin up laundry, shooting amused glances between Luna and Shane. "You're 'bout as useless as Andrea if you're just standin' 'round flirtin' with Officer Walsh."

Slightly flustered, the woman did as told spinning around to aid in the task, muttering something under her breath.

"What was that?"

"Piss off."

"'s what I thought. Shane, if you could be so kind as to leave our easily distracted Luna alone until she's done here, that would be much appreciated, thank you."

* * *

><p>"Need you," she gasped, "<em>now<em>."

To be perfectly honest, none of this was going as she'd expected. Two short pulls from the bottle of SoCo she had tucked away in her bag had her feeling pleasantly warm and had given her the small boost of courage necessary for her to openly flirt with Shane for a good portion of the night - playful smirks and brushes of hands, knowing grins and eyes dark with desire. It had been what helped her invite Shane back to her tent, what encouraged her to straddle him as he sat on her 'bed' (nothing more than a sleeping bag, a small pillow and a couple of extra blankets). When it had started, she wasn't entirely sure she had intended for anything more than a whole lot of kissing and groping to happen - but a few rolls of her hips against his had him hard and pressing, warm and insistent through the fabric of their pants, against her.

No, this hadn't really been what she had planned, but she wasn't about to back down now. He was warm against her, his hands cupping her ass, pulling her closer. Somewhere along the way, she'd tossed her shirt aside, but she didn't remember ever doing so - all she knew was that Shane was blissfully warm against her bare skin, even through his clothing. She wanted his hands on her, doing more than pulling her close, doing more than kneading her ass through denim and making her _ache _for him. She wanted skin on skin, fingers gripping hips tightly for control, bruising soft skin. She wanted moans and half-choked out praises, bites on shoulders to muffle shouts of ecstasy. It had been so long since she'd wanted someone like_ this_, wanted things hard and rough, wanted bruises when things were done and over with. Sore muscles, bruises, they were proof she could still feel._  
><em>

She broke the kiss for a deep breath of air that her lungs positively _burned _for, letting her head fall back for a moment. Before she'd even had a chance to get her bearings, Shane's hands were wandering, tracing up her sides and moving to cup her breasts as his lips trailed rough, impossibly wonderful kisses down her throat. It took her a moment to clear her head enough to form a coherent sentence, and even then, it was preceded by a low moan.

"God, _yes_, touch me."

And then they'd rolled, her pinned beneath him with her legs hitched up around his hips, trying to pull him closer, _needing _to touch more skin, _needing _more skin to be touched. One of Shane's hands threaded into her hair, the other kept him braced above her. She arched up against him, letting out a soft whimper, unable to form quite the right words. Gasping when Shane rocked his hips against hers, creating just a fraction of the friction she was so _desperately _wishing for, she let her hands move to tug at his shirt.

"Lose the shirt, Shane." Managing a contemplative look, she nodded to herself and reached for the button of Shane's pants, grinning lopsidedly. "And the pants." She'd been freed long enough to strip out of her own pants, kick them into the corner when-_  
><em>

She'd woken up, a frustrated noise sounding from deep in her throat.

* * *

><p>"Yer in a shitty mood t'day, Loki."<p>

"Fuck off, Blaine." Was she being unreasonable? Yes. Did she know it? Yes. Did she care? Not in the _slightest_. She'd woken before her dream had even gotten to the best part, and on top of that, she fucking hated Georgia - it was hot and it was only mid-morning and she wanted nothing more than to move north and deal with _snow_ right about now. She'd lived in Georgia her whole life and she couldn't remember a single time when the heat didn't make her irritable, and she felt that said a lot about her; That she'd lived her so long and she'd still prefer to be some place else. "I slept like shit, okay? Lemme alone."

"Touchy, ain't ye?" Blaine muttered, returning his attention to his breakfast with a grunt.

Selfish as it was, Luna just wanted Carl up and running so there would be something to do. With him on bed rest, clinging to the edge, it seemed like everyone was too busy worrying about him or the fact that that poor Sophia girl was missing to be doing anything else. Day in and day out, it was all laundry and cooking, with a couple of people heading out to search for Sophia or loot stores, leaving her idling about, reading or doing laundry or missing how things were. Without something real to focus on, any minor annoyances seemed that much worse, and everything just seemed to escalate far too quickly into a negative situation.

Not that it was surprising - the only real way to cling to shreds of normalcy was to get irritated about stupid things and react in the same way you would have if you _weren't _afraid that you were going to die soon, rather than pushing everything aside, burying it and keeping it hidden away. Let it fester and rot inside, make you a monster, a ghost of your former self - that was how you had to deal with your problems now. For instance, she hadn't ever been quite so hostile towards people as she was now, or even half eager to be alone. The apocalypse had just taken her negative qualities and amplified them; that was how she saw it, at least. She was less concerned now about whether or not people liked her, whether or not people gave a damn about her. It was easier, not really having to keep emotions in check or thoughts filtered into speech.

It wasn't that she didn't like people, really - it was that she thought a majority of them were incompetent morons who barely knew enough about anything to survive _without _the apocalypse snapping at their heels. She was sure most of them were lovely as people, had nice personalities, but she honest-to-God thought someone was a complete moron, she probably wasn't going to get along with them.

Unless they were the sort of person who _liked _being called something along the lines of 'backwoods, inbred dumbass who can't tell their mama from their sister', or something to that effect.

* * *

><p>"This place fuckin' <em>sucks<em>," Luna groaned, carefully pulling her hair into a high ponytail, fanning herself as she sprawled in the shade. She didn't know how long they'd been at the farm - long enough for Carl to at least get up and moving again, albeit slowly - but she was already prepared to just get the fuck out of Georgia. Then again, she'd been ready for that for quite some time now. "It's hot as _fuck_, man."

Blaine snorted from a few feet away, where he sat with Tara under an arm, using the other to hold up a book. "It ain't that bad, Loki; yer jus' sensitive or somethin'."

Motioning vaguely in his direction before giving him the finger, she tossed an arm over her face to block out the sun peeking through the trees. "It's like ninety degrees out here, fucknuts. I like the high seventies, tops." She'd never really been a summer person - always preferred the winter, because it's a helluva lot easier to warm up than it is to cool off. You can only take off so much before there's nothing left and you're still hotter than hell. "We get farther north, get some place like, like... Fuckin' Pennsylvania or New York or something, then I'll be happy. I like the cold."

"Why the hell were you in _Georgia _if you prefer the cold?" Tara interjected, blinking at the redhead. She'd always been a firm believer in 'move away if the weather is not what pleases you', but clearly, Luna wasn't the same. "I didn't even move here until I was seventeen, and I moved from Seattle - I fuckin' hated all the rain and the cold."

Luna shrugged. "Never got around to movin', I guess. Kept tellin' myself I'd save my next paycheck, save my next financial aide check, but I never did. There was always shit I needed, places to go, people to see." It wasn't as if she hadn't tried to save her money - things just always came up. She always ended up with next to no money, and what she had left always had to go to gas or something. It was just having shitty funding that kept her in Georgia, but now, she could leave and never look back; make a new life in a new state. Put everything behind her, that was her secondary goal now - the primary being 'survive'. "Not like it really matters now, does it? Prob'ly won't ever matter again, that I didn't have the money. Now, I can just find a house and make it mine, s'long as I can scavenge for anything else I need."

Both Blaine and Tara looked vaguely concerned about her train of thought, though the youngest of the three missed their facial expressions entirely. "That's somewhat... _Bleak_, iddnit?" Blaine offered lightly.

"Well, o'course it is. But everything's fuckin' bleak now, right? Humanity's kicked the fuckin' hornets nest - just gotta kill all the hornets, y'know? I'm only workin' with what we've got; I'm tryin' to be realistic, here." Pushing herself up to rest on her elbows, Luna continued. "I mean, I know it ain't ideal, but I'd rather be real fuckin' cynical 'bout everything and be pleasantly surprised than get my hopes up, be all 'Yeah, everything is gonna be better, go back to normal' and have that never happen for me, y'know?"

"I feel like ye've been spendin' too much time with that Walsh guy; ye didn't seem quite so... 'Realistic', as ye put it, before."

"Ah, shuddup."


End file.
